This is Devin Jones Read online

  This is Devin Jones

  Kristen Conrad

  Peckham Press

  Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Chapter 75

  Chapter 76

  Chapter 77

  Chapter 78

  Chapter 79

  Chapter 80

  Chapter 81

  Chapter 82

  Chapter 83

  Chapter 84

  Chapter 85

  Chapter 86

  Chapter 87

  Chapter 88

  Chapter 89

  Chapter 90

  Chapter 91

  Chapter 92

  Chapter 93

  Chapter 94

  Chapter 95

  Chapter 96

  Chapter 97

  Chapter 98

  Chapter 99

  Chapter 100

  Chapter 101

  Chapter 102

  Chapter 103

  Chapter 104

  Copyright © 2016 by Kristen Conrad

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing–in–Publication Data

  Conrad, Kristen - author

  This is Devin Jones/ by Kristen Conrad

  ISBN 978-0-9739137-5-0 (e-book)

  I. Title.

  PS3608.O32T54 2013 813'.6 C2013-906062-6

  C2013-906063-4

  Cover design by Steve McKay, Pop Machine Creative

  Published by Peckham Press, Toronto

  Peckham Press

  Suite 164

  110 Cumberland Street

  Toronto, ON M5R 3VS

  [email protected]

  For Doug McColeman, who made excellent cups of coffee and shared many beautiful Montreal evenings on terraces with me helping me meet the cute French gals. I’ll miss you always, “Dog.” xoxo

  1

  Jimmy Marquez pressed his finger down on the start button of the Panther SK2, a $5000 hand-held breaker hammer and prayed. This was the fourth jackhammer they’d gone through and his boss wouldn’t be happy if he busted another one. Sure it’d been Tiny’s fault, the other three - he just didn’t let up on the rock like you’re supposed to. And shit, this was some rock. They had thirty feet of rock and concrete to get to the top from where they started. And they’d started about 20 feet into the subway tunnel from the Hollywood and Highland Station platform. Six months of working nights – more specifically 2 a.m. – 5 a.m. drilling this tunnel, Jimmy Marquez had bloody knuckles from scraping against the rock and probably some serious hearing damage. But it was worth it. 25 grand each. Payable upon completion.

  Jimmy leaned into the Panther with all his weight, hoping somehow that his extra 180 pounds would finally help him break through. “C’mon, ya fucker. Vámonos!” and with that he heard the Pather’s growl start to screech as it broke through to metal sheeting and underfloor. It pulled and started and then sputtered and finally whirred against the nothingness of thin air. Through.

  He smiled, sweat dripped from his forehead streaking his grimy face which was blackened with the soot of the rock he had blasted through.

  Jimmy called back into the tunnel “Tiny!”

  Jimmy’s partner Tiny, a 280 pound behemoth who managed to keep his heft even with that shitty prison food he’d been eating the past 8 years, huffed and puffed his formidable frame up the tunnel to where Jimmy was finishing off the opening at the top. Jimmy turned to him.

  “Through.”

  “Thank fuckin’ God. This job was gonna kill me.”

  “Call the boss.”

  “Now? It’s 3:30 in the morning?”

  When his phone rang, Richard Blakely was still awake. He was leaning his lanky frame over the open back door of a green and yellow Bel Air Taxi, saying goodbye to this evening’s conquest, wondering if he’d already data entried her stats in his iPhone ShagU app, or if he’d need to do that on his way up in the Four Seasons Hotel elevator.

  “Goodbye, Larissa.”

  “You remembered my name…”

  “Of course,” he grinned. “Baby, I am the real deal.”

  “Call me?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Goodbye, Calvin.”

  Richard almost looked over his shoulder for a Calvin, until he remembered that it was he.

  He leaned in for one last kiss. “Take care.”

  And with that he flipped the cab door closed and tapped on the roof to indicate to the cab driver to take off.

  It had occurred to him not to pick up the pretty blond actress in the hotel lobby bar earlier that night. After all, the fewer people who knew what he looked like, the better.

  It had then occurred to him after their mind blowing sex to put a bullet in her head. But he thought better of it. Too messy and too obvious. He needed to fly under the radar for just a little while longer. A few more days.

  His phone buzzed in his jeans pocket, he pulled it out and glanced at the display, immediately recognizing the number. They better not have fucking broken another one of those jackhammer things, those two oafs. Richard was going to be happy to see the back of those two - both fresh from prison and the older one, Jimmy, with like six kids. Now that’s a shame, Richard thought. Shame that those kids had a dad who’d been in prison. And a bigger shame
when he was finished this job they’d never see him again. The other one – Tiny. Nobody’d miss that gangbanging fucker. He’d been in for killing a soccer mom with a kid in the backseat during a carjacking at Wilshire and Canon in the middle of the afternoon.

  Yeah, no one would miss that asshole.

  Twenty minutes later, Richard made his way into the Hollywood Highland subway station through the exterior tunnel Jimmy and Tiny had blasted in an abandoned overgrown parking lot behind the Highland Center. Once inside, he was met by a grinning Tiny who was standing on the platform. Richard thought how the Highland Subway station was almost as deserted as it was during in-use hours. Who the hell rode the subway in LA?

  “We did it, boss.”

  “Yeah. Good for you.”

  Richard followed Tiny, as he jumped down onto the tracks and lumbered into the subway tunnel. They walked another twenty feet until Richard saw a light coming from a freshly blasted hole in the concrete, about eye level with his 6’2” frame. There it was and it looked beautiful.

  They hoisted themselves up and into the secret passageway that took 6 months of work and 4 jackhammers to create.

  At the top of the tunnel, Richard finished his inspection and shook Jimmy’s hand.

  “Nice work, Amigo.”

  “Thanks, Boss.”

  “Now, let’s get this thing covered up.”

  Jimmy wiped some sweat off his grimy forehead with his dirty sleeve, his eyebrows raised in concern. He pointed to the top of the hole. “Ya sure you’re gonna be able to get in here? If we close this up on top?”

  “It’s not about getting in, it’s about getting out.”

  Jimmy knew by looking at the boss, that was enough questions.

  The three of them filled the hole at the top of the passageway by fixing a three foot piece of plywood covered in fake concrete on top to match the floor, fitting it from below and anchoring it into the rock with two expansion bolts. Sturdy enough to walk on, but a well placed kick from above would knock it loose when needed. You’d never know it was there, besides according to Richard’s year-long calculations, which proved correct, the tunnel came up in the back of a utility closet. Blueprints were invaluable things. A $5000 payoff to a fat fucker named Ray Kross who worked at the LA Planning Commission took care of getting those.

  Not that the tubby had a chance to spend his cash. Richard shot him in the head as he sat in his Oldsmobile in the parking lot that night counting the money with those stubby little greedy fingers.

  Richard clambored down the tunnel behind Tiny and Jimmy. At the bottom of the ascent, they jumped onto the subway tracks.

  “Did you finish the storage area too?”

  Jimmy wiped his forehead with a dirty rag, the sweat clearing away the blackness of the grime, giving him a two toned face from the forehead to the nose.

  “Yeah. We did that first,” he said. “It’s through here…” Jimmy shone his flashlight into an area right next to the tracks, where they’d created a four by six foot hole.

  Richard looked it over. “Good.”

  Tiny smiled a snarky grin, flicked his head at Richard. “Fuckin’ took us like six days just for that.”

  Asshole.

  Tiny loomed over Richard. Richard was tall, but Tiny was enormous. “What you gonna put in there, boss?”

  Richard pulled a Ruger P95 out from his under his shirt, firing a shot right in Tiny’s face. Then one for Jimmy.

  “You.”

  2

  Detective Devin Jones plunked down at her desk in the squad room of the Beverly Hills Police Department. She opened her drawer and pulled out a small bouquet of lilies she had placed there earlier –embarrassing enough to be one of only two female Detectives in the BHPD, no need to call attention to it when flowers had arrived for her earlier that morning, hence the shove in the drawer.

  Now with an empty squad room, she placed them on her desk and touched the decorative freesia softly with her fingertips. She looked at the card again – “I’m sorry. xo, Everett.”

  Emotions welled up in Devin, love, hurt, anger… Everything that Everett Cale made her feel. But it was over. Finally over. Devin felt the familiar swelling in her heart she didn’t know what to do with. Love? Need? Who knows… Whatever it was, Devin Jones wasn’t great with feeling too much. It made her feel out of control and terrified of being squashed. She could take down a murdering psycho or walk into the goriest crime scene but when her heart was open it ached too much sometimes. And even life could bring it on - like seeing one of those little dogs who use a cart for back legs or a baby wearing glasses. Her heart swelled and it was almost too much for her to take.

  She was having one of those moments right now. That wouldn’t cut it. Not here. Not today. She would not let Everett Cale ruin her day.

  “Fuck it...” She kicked the little black garbage can out from under her desk, stuffed the flowers in and kicked it back underneath. She checked her watch. 10:15. She still had a couple of hours before she had to start getting ready for her big evening.

  Looking forward to that made her feel a bit brighter. She’d let her friend Nadia fix her up on a blind date and who knows where that could lead? Maybe the love of her life. Normally she’d never go on a blind date but after her breakup with Everett she thought what the hell– plus how often does a blind date take you to the Hollywood Screen Awards?

  Devin glanced up from her desk to see Mike Reyes her partner of the past five years – ever since she made detective at 30 - wandering in to the squad room, eating a Quizno’s sandwich.

  He looked surprised to see her.

  “What’re you doing here?” He dropped an entire meatball on the jacket of his grey Brooks Brother’s suit. “Shit.”

  Devin smirked. “Serves you right eating lunch at 10:20 a.m..”

  “I thought you were off today.”

  “I missed you.”

  “I believe it. But really? The girl who can’t stop working? Even on such a big day?”

  “Mike. It’s an awards show not my wedding day.”

  “It’s Hollywood Christmas.”

  Devin laughed. “I guess…”

  Mike went for another oversized bite of sandwich. Now an even bigger chunk of meatball fell out right onto some papers on his desk. “Okay, Michael, give up…”

  “Yeah… Fuck it.” He flipped the sandwich onto his desk. “I’ll eat it later.”

  His cell phone buzzed, he picked it up. “Reyes… Right… Yup. Got it.” He pressed end call and stuffed his phone back in his pocket.

  Devin eyed him. “Something I need to know about?”

  “Not on your day off you don’t.”

  “Pretty please?”

  Mike laughed. “You’re a frickin’ work junkie, Devin…Fine. A homicide.”

  “Ooh. Goody.” Devin opened her desk drawer and pulled out her badge and her Baretta 92 in its holster. Without missing a beat, she stood up, pulled her black Stella McCartney blazer from the back of her chair and slid it on.

  “Let’s go.” She checked her watch. “I’ve got two hours, then home to get beautiful for the beautiful people.”

  Mike looked back longingly at his sandwich.

  Devin sighed. “Fine. We’re taking separate cars anyway.”

  3

  “Why don’t you fuck off and run along, girlie? No autographs today!”

  78-year-old Screen Legend Helen Raymond was bombed at 10:30 a.m. and sneering at Detective Devin Jones from across the backyard manicured lawn of her Beverly Hills mansion.

  “Excuse me, Ms. Raymond, but my partner and I are investigating a murder on your property?”

  “Yeah? Who died?” Helen had a swig of her ‘water’ with a lot of extra clinkity ice cubes.

  “Your gardener.”

  Helen’s penciled in copper eyebrows raised in surprise. “Oh my God! Henry?”

  “Jorge.”

  “Who?”

  “Your gardener’s name is Jorge.”

  “I always called h
im Henry…”

  “It was Jorge.”

  She waved her hand. Whoever. “Someone murdered him?”

  Helen Raymond approached, her high heeled, gold lamé morning slippers poking into the grass with each wobbly step. As she got closer, Devin noticed that Helen’s blond pageboy wig was slightly askew and her maroon tracksuit jacket was unzipped just far enough to display a push-up bra and some overly tanned cleavage no one would want to see.

  “Someone murdered him?” Helen intoned again, the words enveloping Devin in a cumulus cloud of gin fumes.

  “So it would appear… Can I ask you a few questions?”

  Devin watched Helen give her the once over. A slow up and down. “You’re not a cop,” she slurred suspiciously. “You an actress?”

  “Ms. Raymond…I’m a police detective.”

  “You look like an actress. Lady detectives are frumpy lesbos…”

  “Okay, lovely…”

  Helen pointed her rocks glass of gin at Devin. “You’re a knockout.”

  “…Anyway, Ms. Raymond - ”

  Helen squinted. “’Cept you got a little scar on your face.”

  “I know.”

  “There…. under your eye. On your cheek there.”

  “Yes, I’m aware.”

  “Where’d ya get that?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “You get that being a cop?”

  “No, but it’s the reason I became a cop, how ’bout that?”

  “Fair enough. What do you wanna know?”

  Devin heard huffing and puffing and peered over to see a Fred Flinstone-like, thick-set man with an overly black toupee, wearing a tuxedo and trotting breathlessly across the lawn.

  “Helen Darling… Is everything okay?”

  “Lowell, this cop who looks like an actress says someone murdered Henry.”

  Toupee Tuxedo gasped. “How terrible!” Then recovered. “Wait, who?”

  “Jorge,” Devin offered.

  That one sank in. “Oh my word...” the man whispered.

  Devin flipped open her pad. “I’m sorry… you are?”

  “Domville. Lowell Domville. I’m Mrs. Raymond’s--”

  Helen piped in bossily, “Lowell is my-”

  They finished two sentences at the same time.